She refused to marry the sorcerer
and so he cursed her household.
Time couldn’t touch it, but
neither could they be seen, just
ghostly whispers haunting the
dark corridors.
She was transformed into a
beast, left for all visitors to see.
‘Until someone says they love you,
to that face, you will remain
ugly.’
Time passed, men came,
longing to woo the mysterious
woman under the cloak.
Her hospitality legendary,
allowing weary travellers
to enter, eat, sleep in
her house. Their every
desire is granted.
As host she was polite,
her conversation enticing, but
sweet. Her voice was deep,
husky, something they thought
they couldn’t resist.
During the night they would
come into her room, creep to
the end of the bed, then crawl
towards her, hands
clawing the thin covers back
to caress her legs.
Hairy legs.
Struck dumb, they would
squeak in surprise as her
deep voice rumbled,
‘Do you love me? Could you?’
They galloped away before
they ever saw her face.
This cycle continued
year after year, until
the beast stopped counting,
stopped hoping.
She grew used to talking
to invisible slaves, howling at
the moon, and even began
spraying the trees.
Her territory.
She had one tree wrapped around
a tree, the urine
trickling down her skin,
missing the bark.
Scribbled Thoughts 